


Shattered Dreams and Broken Men

by angelrizen_17, Underestimated_amateur



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Career, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mild Language, Physical hurt, Wheelchairs, emotional breakdowns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 16:39:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8899858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelrizen_17/pseuds/angelrizen_17, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Underestimated_amateur/pseuds/Underestimated_amateur
Summary: He was the champion. He had a wrestling career he lived for. He had a amazing boyfriend that loves him. He had it all.Except now he's not champion anymore. Except now he can't even wrestle anymore. The one thing he's done his entire life is ripped away from him.All he's got now is Roman and he's not sure it's enough. What do you do when you can no longer do something that came as natural as breathing?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Or
> 
> “Dean.” He begins, quiet and fragile.
> 
> “Oh shit.” Ambrose cuts him off. “I know that kind of face.”
> 
> “Dean.” Roman tries again.
> 
> “No man, I know that face by now. What the fuck is it?”

The first thing he saw when he came to the surface of consciousness was the dark void that surrounds him. It lasted for a mere second before an annoying beeping noise and the sudden intense pain that shot throughout his body brought him back to complete reality, forcing his eyes open as he gasps for air. He blinks, irritated by the sounds, bright lights, and whiteness of the room he finds himself in. It’s not the best way to wake up; in a gown that shows his ass in the back and a needle shoved in his arm, but he’s been in worst situations. He faintly hears voices outside his door in the halls over the obnoxious beeps of the heart monitor and his own heavy breathes. He strains to recognize any of the voices, but the constant beeping wouldn’t allow him to; too constant, too loud, too distracting. He groans, letting his head sink back into the pillows, realizing for the first time he’s in a neck brace once again as well. “Fuck.” He grunts under his breath, burying his face in his hands. He hears the door slowly open.

“Dean?” A familiar voice, warm with concern and gruffness, asks from the doorway. Dean lifts his head a bit, ignoring the slight pain, and looks over to the dark haired man. “Hey.” He rasps out, giving a small solute.

Roman stays where he is, taking in the sight of the man he loves. The blonde has a knee brace on his leg along with everything else and a black eye. He’s hesitant to move at first, but soon he’s closing the door behind him and rushing to Dean’s side. “Hey.” He replies softly, occupying the chair next to the cot and taking the other’s hand in a firmly gentle grip. “How are you feeling, Champ?”

He snorts, curling his fingers around the larger hand. “Ain’t a champion anymore.” At the grimace he receives, he goes to reassure him. “Hey, ‘s not a big deal. I’ll win it back. I’m not upset, if anything I’m even more determined to get back in there and kick some ass, okay?”

Instead of looking relieved or the very least amused like he expected, Roman’s expression turns further crestfallen and he watches as the other’s shoulders slump in utter defeated in a way Dean has ever saw them before. “Dean.” He begins, quiet and fragile.

“Oh shit.” Ambrose cuts him off. “I know that kind of face.”

“Dean.” Roman tries again.

“No man, I know that face by now. What the fuck is it?” He demands hotly. He ain’t going to be bullshitted by anyone.

Roman sighs, and he sounds so tired and nervous. He watches as the man in the uncomfortable hospital chair rub his hand against his face like he’s trying to wipe away all the weariness and nerves. Briefly, Dean flashes back to the aftermath of Survivor Series. He remembers being back in the locker room afterward, remembers a pale asshole laughing along with two slimy corporate washouts. Remembers how broken the man he called his brother looked. Broken, but not like back in June in 2014 when they took a steel chair to the back. No, Dean remembers the digging hurt from the bottom of his stomach, but there wasn’t necessarily a ‘broken’ feeling as there was ‘unbottled fury’ that ran hot and had a vengeful edge to it. People called him crazy for it. Called him a lunatic. Well, fine. If he's crazy for wanting to get back at Seth, for wanting to make the backstabbing traitor feel at least a fraction of what a chair to the stomach felt like, what betrayal by a guy he called family– and shit, Seth knew– fucking knew what that word was to him– then FINE. He's insane, a nut-case, off his rocker, completely out of his mind. There was only a few people's feelings he's ever cared about and they are not one of them anyways.

To see Roman like that again made something in his chest tighten. It was something heavy and ugly, and it coiled under his gut fiercely. And he, being awkward with feelings and not having comforting others as his forte, can only think to squeeze Roman's hand. "Hey man, it's okay. Whatever it is, you can tell me. Come on, fuck knows I can take it."

He watches Roman swallow before looking him in the eyes. And shit. Dean feels like he’s about to be told he only has 24 hours to live or something.

“You can’t wrestle anymore.”

 

Time seems to freeze along with the rest of him, and he swore right then and there his heart stops. Once the immediate shock─ not wear off he’ll still be feeling that for awhile, but washes over him─ he suddenly feels angry. No, scratch that. He’s fucking pissed. “The fuck you mean I can’t wrestle anymore.” He snaps. The hand not holding Roman’s grips the sheets, knuckles turning white.

“The doctors said─” Roman starts, but Dean cuts him off.

“Fuck what the doctors say!” He shouts, jerking his hand away. “The fuck they know anyways. Sure I got some bumps and bruises, got knocked around. I’ll heal! I always fucking heal! They can’t stop me from─”

“YOU COULD DIE!” Roman exclaims. The grip on his shoulders tighten, he had grabbed onto them when he raised his voice, the blond hadn’t even noticed the hold until now. Dean freezes and closes his mouth as he observes the worried look of Roman, calm determined blue eyes now more of a dull grey with worry and sadness. “You could die.” Roman says again, voice now soft. “You’ve had too many concussions, anymore could risk death at this point. Along with that, you’ve got a dislocated knee, Dean. They say it could take almost eight weeks to heal and if you’re not careful it’ll be messed up for the rest of your life. Too many concussions can start permanently damaging your brain, Dean. It won’t heal and it’ll only get worse. The company─ they ended your contract, it’s too risky to work for them anymore. You can’t wrestle in a WWE ring anymore.”

Dean snorts, looking away to break eye contact. His voice is cold and distant, joking humorlessly, “What’s the point in trying to get better if apparently I can’t even wrestle anymore?”

“Don’t say that.” Roman grits his teeth, serious, eyes narrowing. The very thought of Dean out of his life for good made the hair on his neck stand and makes him stand on edge. “You have other things to live for, baby boy please.”

The other man only shakes his head. “Don’t got anything else other than wrestling.”

“You’ve got me,” Roman argues. He gently takes Dean’s hand again in both of his and kisses the blond’s crown of his sweaty head. “I love you. I can’t lose you.” 

Dean couldn’t even muster up the energy to look up at him again and he lays his head on the other man’s shoulder. He feels the entire world weighing down on him as the walls close in around him and the ground is ripped from under his feet. He feels like he’s slowly drowning.

Except he’s no longer sure if he wants to come up for air.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen.” He uncharacteristically whispers. He was Dean fucking Ambrose. He was the ‘Indestructible nut-job’. He wasn’t supposed to ever be made to stay down. He was supposed to be undestroyable, unstoppable. The Iron man of WWE. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, wishing to force away reality. He imagines going back into the ring, kicking AJ Styles’ self-assured ass, taking his title back, and then celebrating backstage with Roman. The darker man would grin, bright, happy, and so full of pride. He’d wrap Dean up in a bear hug, picking him up off his feet then shake him around like a rag doll. He’d kiss his cheek, his temple, his forehead, his nose, his lips, and everywhere else. He’d whisper into his ear, “You did it. I knew you’d do it,” among other sweet things. ‘Yeah,’ he would think, grinning too, ‘I fucking did do it.’

But Roman isn’t whispering any of those things and they’re not backstage. There’s no title match or Wrestlemania. There’s no wrestling at all anymore. Instead he holds Dean in a bleach white hospital room, murmuring, “I’m sorry. I love you. You’ll always be a champion to me.”

 

 

~ *~

 

 

Leaving the hospital was both better and worse than staying in the that blank, insane driving room. He had to use a wheelchair while leaving. Crutches, he was told, would come in later. He hated being in the uncomfortable confinement of the chair, it made him feel weaker than what he was and less self-reliant than he’d ever like to be. His own prison on wheels. He insists on rolling himself down the halls and to the car himself. Roman nods, not arguing even when Dean takes a good minute just to position himself right to merely push the correct buttons on the elevator. It is only when they get to their silver SUV does Roman make a move to help. The greek god of a man (Dean snorted when he first heard a fan say it, but he does see what they mean) has to lift him into the vehicle. Thankfully he didn’t say anything about it but to, “Watch your head.” Dean huffs, yanking on the seat belt once he’s in. Roman folds the wheelchair up and stashes it in the backseat before climbing into the driver’s seat next to him. The trip home is long and the radio music is the only thing that fills the silence the whole way there.

Not long after leaving the hospital, Roman pulls the car into a parking spot at their apartment complex, and cuts the engine. Dean felt Roman’s gaze on him as he stares out the window of the SUV, but he chooses to ignore it. He doesn’t want to see the worried look in his lover’s eyes, he has seen enough of it today alone to last a lifetime. After a long moment, Dean can feel Roman’s about to say something, but the blond speaks up first, not giving him the chance. “Let’s get inside. I need an ice pack, shower, painkillers, and a beer.” He sighs. “Not really in that order though.”

Roman looks as if he still wants to say something. Thankfully though, he remains silent and offers a small, handsome smirk, which Dean was more than happy to accept. “Alright, whatever you want baby boy.” The Samoan says as he unbuckles, takes the keys out, and opens his door.

Dean gives him something of a playful look, liking the more relaxed atmosphere that hadn’t occurred back in the dank, hospital room the last couple of weeks. “Really? In that case I also want a blowj─” The blond is cut off by the slam of Roman’s door being shut. The Samoan shakes his head as he rounds the front of the car, seemingly amused. When he looks back up at the blond, he’s met with the middle finger and Dean’s angry frown. Said man sees Roman let out a laugh, and his own frown wavers a bit. It was a lot easier to feel okay like this. This felt normal, despite the fact that he couldn’t follow Roman out of the car on his own. This type of interaction could almost make him believe he is alright, that nothing has really changed.

The dull ache in his knee and the fact that Roman immediately went to the back door to get the wheelchair brings him back to the real situation. “What were you saying?” Roman asks as he pulls the stiff, brown contraption out of the back of the car and unfolds it on the black top.

“You’re an ass.” Dean grumbles, sounding much more pissed than he actually is. Roman lets out an amused chuckle as he steps up beside Dean. The Samoan man rests his forearms a top the SUV’s hood, and leans down to look in on the smaller male. Dean clicks his seat belt free and looks up at him with a cheeky smirk. 

“Well this ass is going to be taking care of you, so I would watch what you say,” Roman teasingly threatens. Dean’s smirk falls at those words. He isn’t so naive to say he didn’t need help, but the idea of someone ‘taking care’ of him didn’t sit well with him. Whether it be Ro or a complete stranger.

“I don’t need to be taken care of. I can do that just fine on my own.” Dean grunts, an edge to his voice.

Roman sighs softly, and Dean knows that the Samoan realizes the mistake in his wording. “I know that, baby boy. I didn’t mean it like that.” Roman assures him, obvious remorse laced in his voice. A slight pang of guilt hits deep in his gut at the sound of his Ro’s voice. Dean can feel the playful atmosphere fade as quickly as it had come, and Dean misses it almost instantly.

“Forget it,” Dean grumbles. “I really need that beer.” Roman hesitates for a moment, watching Dean who starts to rub his hand against his leg anxiously. The same way as when he rubs his chest and collarbone. Roman turns away after a moment; however, and rolls the chair up next to Dean’s open door.

The blond twists his body, attempting to get out of the car on his own, just to show Roman he could. His injured leg hits the door though as he goes to set his other foot on the ground. A fresh spike of pain goes up his leg and the blond curses, nearly falling before catching himself. “Fuck!” Holy hell does that hurt.

“Easy!” Roman exclaims and grabs Dean’s arm to keep him from stepping out of the vehicle anymore than he already has. Dean tries to shove the hand off of him, because he can get out of a freaking car by himself goddammit, but Roman’s grip is like a vise. “You’re just going to hurt yourself more. I know you’re trying to prove a point, but stop. I’m not ready to go back to the hospital yet.” The tightness in Roman’s voice makes the blond sit back in the car, but not without a sour look. As much as he hated it, Dean knew that, at least for now, he would have to give in. Besides, Roman has a point. He isn’t ready to go back to that hell hole either.

The Samoan carefully lifts the smaller male from the car and places him in the metal chair. Dean only makes small hisses of pain as he’s moved which he resents greatly. Damn knee. When a small kiss is placed on his cheek though, the pain in his knee fades a bit from his mind. Roman has a smirk on his face when Dean looks up at him. “Being a little risky, aren’t we?” Dean asks.

“I’m not to worried.” Roman says and places a soft kiss on his lips. Dean can’t help but to give a small smile into it. “Am I forgiven?” The Samoan asks, pulling away from the kiss.

“Not in the least.” Dean huffs and rolls his chair away from Roman, who chuckles as he shuts the car door and follows the wounded man. Dean still doesn’t believe things will ever be okay again. Nothing is fine and if it isn’t for the numbness inside his gut he’s pretty sure the world would feel like it’s crashing down around him again. So he ignores the obvious truths around him for now, play the part and pretend like everything is okay even when it’s not, it’s what he’s good for.

Still, there’s something warm that sparks inside his chest just the tiniest bit when he glances back at the man he fell in love with, who still has that coy smile on his lips. 

 

Maybe it was hope.

 

 

.

**Author's Note:**

> So we wrote this so long ago, but I finally uploaded it. Please feel free to leave feedback and criticism! Have a good day.


End file.
